Learning to Lie

As the second anniversary of Zach's passing approaches, I can't help but think of how far I've come in my Grief.
I've learned to function around it, and smile in spite of it. I've learned how to hide my pain, and keep pushing forward. But most of all, I've learned to lie.
Lying is a huge part of dealing with Grief. I lie to myself, and I lie to those around me. I smile when I want to scream, I laugh when I want to cry, and I pretend to be ok, when I am anything but. Hollywood actors have nothing on the functioning grieving parent. We are so skilled at pretending to be normal, that sometimes, we even convince ourselves.
But I'm not normal. I'll never be normal again. I'll never be the person I was two years ago. She died that day too...
And so I lie. I lie each morning, when I convince myself to get out of bed, saying that today will be better. I lie each time I put on my make-up, or a pretty outfit, telling myself that it will make me feel better. I lie over and over again throughout the day when people ask me how I'm doing, and I say "I'm fine." or "Doing good." I lie each night, when I lay down in bed, and think "Tomorrow is a new day." But it's not a new day. While the date on the calendar might be different, it doesn't change the date in my heart, and mind. The day that is on an eternal loop through my head, constantly reminding me of what I lost, and will never get back.
I'm a liar now. I lie to strangers, and to those I love. I should feel guilty, but I don't. It's for everyone's benefit. No one wants to hear the truth. No one wants to know how I really feel. I lie to protect them. And to protect myself. So I say I'm ok. I smile, and crack a joke. It's easier that way.
But sometimes... I want to tell the truth. I want people to know how much it hurts. I want them to understand that no amount of time will ease the ache in my chest. That I will NEVER be ok without my son.
I want them to know that when I'm alone, I cry all the time. In the shower, in my car, at my desk, and when I'm awake in bed at night, next to my sleeping husband. I want to tell them that I love them, but that it also rips at my heart to see them with their happy, whole families. That sometimes I'm overwhelmed with jealousy at something as simple as seeing a father holding his son, or a mother kiss a boo boo.
I want them to understand that the pain of Grief isn't just emotional. It's also physical. Constant headaches, backaches, chest pains, and more. And sometimes the strain of keeping my emotions in check leaves me feeling utterly exhausted.
I want to tell them that sometimes I just want to hide from the world, and the constant triggers all around me. That I can't bear to see another commercial with a smiling, happy family, or hear a song about heartbreak. That even seemingly innocent social media posts hit me like a knife to the chest.
But I can't tell them. Because it's not fair. They shouldn't feel guilty for being happy. And I want them to be happy.
So I'll just keep lying...